


Choke

by IWrtBksNtTrgds (orphan_account)



Category: Blink-182, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Green Day, Gym Class Heroes, Halsey, Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore, The Academy Is...
Genre: A/B/O, Action/Adventure, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Brothels, Death, Depression, F/F, F/M, Government Corrpution, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Omegaverse, Peterick, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12658734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/IWrtBksNtTrgds
Summary: Patrick's lived in a brothel his whole live, beaten and abused by the owners and his clients, he's been sheltered from the world ever since he was taken from his home at the age of 7. Ten years later and a man by the name of Sandman shows up, could he be Patrick's savior? Or the beginning of an even worse hell?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uhh this is gonna be super crappy starting off but I hope this get better as I go :)

Patrick's eyes shut against the pale ceiling miles above him, blocking out all the light from his vision and replacing it with darkness. Something to get rid of reality, something to make him forget if even for a moment. His fingers are gripping the bedsheets deep and harsh and the man above him is grunting out obscenities as the bed shakes under them. He has dark brown hair and baby blue eyes, much too innocent to be anywhere near here, but Patrick knows damn well that even the nicest looking men and women can be the worst of them. They can be the most sadistic and Ryan? He doesn't give two fucks if his workers die, as long as he gets his goddamn money. So the sadists can do as they please, they could leave him there, dickless and out of a business, screaming just to get off. Of course, they'd probably have to pay much more than they bargained for but that's just the business. That's just what Ryan's agreed to.

"Kid, open your eyes," The man growls above him, stopping his thrusting for a moment to glare right at Patrick who only leans away slightly, intimidated with his eyes open, "Talk to me, tell me how big my cock is or somethin'. You gotta pretty voice."

Patrick takes a breath, moving his hands to above his head where the other immediately pins them down uncomfortably and pounds right back into his loose entrance. He's gone all day like this, his heart racing and his mind too broken to really function right. That's how it always is, he gets a break exactly one day a week but he can't leave the brothel, can't escape, not even for a trip to the market. After all, he might get kidnapped. Ryan would be pissed, he wouldn't even get any money out of it.

"You're cock's so big, Sir, so thick inside me," He tries to make it sound pleasured, like he's actually enjoying this shit but there's no way in hell he ever would. He's disgusted, with himself and the man pounding into him. Patrick thinks his name's Joe but he's not sure, he never really gets his clients' names. They're always gone far too fast and don't come back for long periods of time, “I-I’m so tight around you, oh fuck, I wanna cum.”

Joe slaps him, hard, then shoves his hand around the other’s neck, glaring at the blond with a dark look that sends chills up Patrick’s spine, “You sound like you actually fucking enjoy it when you choke, Whore.”

Patrick can’t say a thing, his hands clawing at Joe’s furiously but the other doesn’t let up, not yet. He feels dark around the edges of his eyes and his lungs scream for air as his throat closes in on itself and Joe starts thrusting erratically into his tight entrance, grunting out as he finally cums hard, his cock swelling inside him. Patrick whines when the blue-eyed man lets go of his throat and watches him gasp for air.

“That’s how desperate you should be for my cock next time,” Joe growls, “Make sure you don’t fucking forget it, next time I ask you to beg you better fucking beg.”

His cock throbs a few times inside of Patrick before the swelling finally goes down and he pulls out, stripping off his condom and yanking his boxers up from the dirty floor. Patrick’s still gasping, still taking breaths to calm himself as Joe finally leaves and slams the door shut, leaving the omega to himself and sending chills up Patrick’s spine.

He’s used to being treated like this, used to being treated like nothing more than a sex toy. That’s all he is, that’s all he’ll ever be. Even when he was still young, he knew that. He’s been a sex toy all his life, been nothing but an object for the others’ pleasure. For the alphas and the betas who have enough money to use his ass. He’s used to it and Ryan makes him take at least 10 a day. $50 per person, at least $500 a day. If he doesn’t make that much, then he’s beaten. If he refuses to take that much, he’s tortured until he finally submits. He hates how Ryan treats him but he knows he can’t escape. Workers who escape get caught. They always do, and they’re never heard from again.

Patrick doesn’t know what happens to them, the other omegas at the brothel tell rumors that they’re chained outside the brothel and starved to death. Others say they’re sold off to the doms down in West Lake. Patrick’s never questioned it. He’s too afraid to run. Too afraid to see what happens no matter how much he may want to leave.

“Ten minute break,” Will calls from outside the door. He’s sort of the co-owner of this place, he manages the omegas, makes sure they’re clean, makes sure they don’t take breaks when they aren’t supposed to, and tells Ryan when any of the m misbehave. Ryan’s an alpha, Will’a an omega, but Ryan’s extremely possessive of what’s his and any of the clients that even come close to touching Will end up dead or worse.

Either way, Patrick sits up from the bed, slowly pressing his boxers back on and wiping the sweat from his face before he leaves his room, a bottle of water in hand. Gabe is right outside his door, stuffing his face with the little food Ryan gave him this morning and at the same time trying to share with Mikey who’s only staring at the wall and refusing and a soft shake of his head. Patrick tries not to let it bother him too much, they’ve lived here for years. They don’t count anymore. Even Ashley's lost her hope and she seemed so happy when she first arrived. Afraid, yes, but she didn’t let it get to her.

They’re all omegas, though. And while most all omegas are free now, there are the unlucky few like them. Patrick’s seen it all. It isn’t a surprise anymore. They’re all traumatized in one way or another. Even Patrick is, and he’s probably the strongest out of them all.

“Patrick!”

His eyes flinch up to see Will there, a solid, irritated glare in his eyes. Patrick immediately backs down. He has enough scars from the beatings they put on him constantly, he doesn’t need any more. Not if he wants to get clients.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Joe said you were doing shitty today, what happened?” Will asks.

“I don’t know, Sir, he said I wasn’t good at begging, Sir. I’ll try to improve next time.”

Will stares at him for a long moment before grabbing his wrist and pulling him along through the hall, shaking his head and tugging him along to one of the last rooms before spitting out his gum and shoving Patrick into the room before following him in and turning on the light.

“Get on your goddamn knees,” Will mumbles, tugging off his belt and slamming door shut while Patrick hesitantly complies, falling to his knees for the other man and feeling the cold leather against his bare back, “Keep your goddamn mouth shut. If you can’t beg for a client, then you can’t beg for relief, is that fucking understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Patrick breathes, and just like that he shuts his eyes and braces himself.

“You’re nothing but a pathetic whore, Patrick,” William mumbles, “Don’t you ever forget it.”

Patrick clenches his teeth as the man snaps the belt against his skin, sending the skin to turn a bright red and a long streak to stay behind. The brunette never gives mercy. It doesn’t matter how much anyone begs, Will likes to hurt people, Ryan knows this damn well and gives him as many people to hurt as he can. It’s kind of sad in a way how poisonous Ryan and Will’s relationship is but how they both benefit somehow. Patrick’s seen it too much in the past, Will still hasn’t seen enough.

A few more strikes come down, Patrick’s fingernails are digging into the palms of his hands but his eyes remain focused on the wall in front of him. _One, two, three, four... five, six..._

Patrick cries out harshly when Will finds an especially tender place and falls forward in pain but it’s not long before the other is wrapping the belt tight against Patrick’s neck and keeping it there without a sign of mercy. Leaning down with the leather in a tight hold. The blond shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth as he tries to breathe through the belt.

“W-Will,” Patrick chokes through the belt clawing at it desperately, “ _S-stop!_ ”

“Shut up,” Will mumbles, finally letting go of the belt and watching it go limp at his side. A red mark stays imprinted on Patrick’s neck, though, a tint of purple marked at the edges. Patrick’s still gasping for breath, tears at his eyes and down his cheeks. His hands wrap around the marking as he heaves and Will pulls away, pressing his belt back around his waist.

“Your next client’s gonna be here soon, and I don’t fucking want you to fuck it up this time, understood? If I have to talk to you again, I will give them a free for all on you, you fucking whore.”

Patrick looks away, visibly shaking as tears roll down the hills of his cheeks to his chin and he pulls himself away from the ground, stumbling to head back to his room, hunched over and walking right past Will. He’s shaking hard, he feels disgusting and he needs a shower, he needs to scrub the filth from his skin because too many people have touched him today, too many hands have clawed into neck and wrists and thighs and he feels so... so gross. He can’t remember the last time he ate. He just... He just needs some sort of relief. He hasn’t had a day off in a long, long time.

He just needs a break from all this shit but he knows he won’t get one for at least another few months. They very rarely get breaks besides to rest or sometimes eat. He would think Ryan and Will would want to keep them healthy but apparently the clients around here are desperate and will take anything. So less work and more money for the bosses, more work and less rest for the prostitutes. He hates it, but he doesn’t have any other way of staying alive. He knows that if he doesn’t accept his clients, he could be killed.

Then again, it’s not like there’s all that much to live for anymore...

Patrick takes a breath, shutting the door to his room and taking a seat on his bed and shutting his eyes. He’s tired, he’s had a long day and he just... He just wants to sleep, dammit. He wants to forget about the world for a while. It seems to be the only way he gets a break from life, from the hell he’s been shoved into. He just... He just wants some freedom. Is that too much to ask? For relief from his goddamn place.

He's just about to drift into sleep when he hears the door open and someone comes in, wasting no time in pinning him down on the bed and connecting their lips harshly.

Maybe he just doesn’t deserve a break.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick shoutout to VickyTook on Wattpad for drawing this amazing fanart, I'm truly touched :D  
>   
> This chapter came a bit early for you guys, not sure when the next one will be up because I'm working on a series of oneshots for Christmas but it'll be soon (probably by next Tuesday)

Patrick’s fingers tap against his wrist, a gentle rhythm against the harsh waves of silence that echoes through the room, just a small cut amongst a river of gore. He’s trying to distract himself from the screaming in his mind and trying to pull himself away from the fact that the silence is always accompanied. It’s a harsh G flat of a piano and an E minor chord of a guitar. Patrick never learned guitar, doesn’t know piano, but he’s remembered just enough of what he learned in his childhood to know some music. He misses his guitar, he remembers he used to have one in this god forsaken place years ago, but they smashed it when he refused to take customers one day. He was exhausted, and he was hungry and thirsty. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t. He couldn’t.

Maybe he’s just thinking too much, though.

He cannot sleep, and it happens a lot. He’s tired, so very tired. He took 30 today. 30 people in the last 24 hours. He’s too tired, too exhausted to take anything more, but at least Ryan was kind of happy with him. He got some extra table scraps. More than Gabe and Mikey, at least. That’s reassuring for the most part. He won’t get beaten for at least a little while and he’s back on Will’s good side.

He turns in bed, staring at the wall instead of the ceiling and watching the moon peer in through the barred window, just a sliver of light in the small, cold, dark room. He’s used to it being this way, though. With nothing but a thin blanket to cover his body and nothing but a pair of boxers to cover his body. He’s heard of omegas dying in the winter due to hypothermia. It’s a dangerous world out there. Patrick knows it well, he lives it daily. But for some reason, he just can’t give up the hope that maybe someday he could leave and see it all. Maybe they’d let him free. Maybe…

His thoughts always run wild at times like these, when nothing is there to accompany him besides his soft breaths and his pulse against the pillow, drumming away at a soft, steady pattern. _Ffft, ffft, ffft, ffft..._ One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four. Patrick takes a breath, shutting his eyes as he listens to that rhythm like the beating of a drum. He’s never heard much music in his life besides the street performers that sometimes come around outside their place but there isn’t usually much of them anymore. Patrick isn’t sure why. Then again, he isn’t sure about a lot of things out there. The last time he was outside must have been years ago. They never let the omegas out of the brothel. Ever. They’re too afraid they’ll run away or something.

_Deep breaths. In, out._

Patrick sinks further into the pillows, immersing himself in the bed and yawning long and slow into the midnight air.

_In... Out._

_In... Out…_

_In…_

***

“Wake up you fucking slut!” Will growls from outside the door, a muffled sound against the noises of groans in the adjacent rooms, “You have a client. Behave like a good fucking whore, understood?”

Patrick snaps away from his sleep, his heart already racing in his chest as he looks to the door to see Will step away and another man come in. Dark eyes and short black hair, a bandana sits snugly across his lips and nose, but Patrick knows enough just from his eyes and the shape of his body that he’s new here. Or new to Patrick, at least. The blond watches as the door shuts and winces away as he anticipates the man to come forward and just shove him down like they always do. To just pin him down and fuck him like a toy.

He waits gritting his teeth and looking away but for some reason... For some reason when he looks up, the man is only pulling off his bandana and setting down his bag. He doesn’t even look like he wants Patrick, at least not in the way that everyone else does. His moves are smooth and efficient, flowing and gentle and wary, almost as if he knows how afraid Patrick is. Almost as if he’s been in Patrick’s place before.

He looks back with a soft smile as he finishes off with his jacket, setting it down messily on top of his backpack and bandana just before sitting down right there on the hardwood floor. He’s gazing up at Patrick with big, whiskey eyes and tanned skin. Maybe two inches long, maybe shorter. He’s got tattoos all up his arms but no piercings. Patrick vaguely recognizes a movie character on one arm but can’t place the other. He doubts it matters, soon enough those hands will be wrapped around his throat.

“Sir?” Patrick manages, wincing away from his voice not long after. It’s been a couple days since he last used his voice, he’s not used to letting his vocal strings ring, the only time he really does is when Joe enters. He hates Joe. He really fucking does, and he knows he shouldn’t say it, but it’s true. He hates the way he looks at him like he’s a piece of meat or an object. He hates the way he treats him like some sort of object for his sexual pleasure. It makes Patrick terribly uncomfortable, makes him wish he were dead, honestly.

But this man here doesn’t show a sign of that. He’s calm, and he’s patient. He’s watching Patrick thoughtfully with warm eyes and what looks to be a soft heart but Patrick doesn’t know that. He can’t just guess that either. He guessed Joe would be okay. He guessed Adam would be okay. He guessed Chris would be okay. None of them were ever okay. None of them ever treated him like anything more than a toy, a pile of shit to disrespect and use and fuck. He’s tired. He’s so very tired of the perverts who show up and the homophobes who just tell him to “hurry the fuck up,” because he’s nothing more than a “faggot.” He’s heard that word too many times and he... if he’s honest he barely even knows what it means. But he does know that those men get disgusted with him, he’s just not sure why. He remembers that... He remembers his mom and his dad always told him it’s okay if boys love boys and girls love girls. What’s the difference...? Why do these people care so much?

He doubts it matters anymore, though. He’s gonna die in this place, anyways. It terrifies him, but he knows it’ll happen. He knows he can’t help it. He knows.

“Hi there,” The man replies to Patrick’s greeting. The prostitute flinches at the hazel eyed man’s words and leans back, eyes wide and fingers bunching up the fabric. This man hasn’t even touched him, which must be a first in a long while. The men and women who come almost always just go ahead and pin him down and fuck him dry. Why hasn’t this man touched him? Why is he any different? Why...?

Patrick bites his lip as he stares down at the man, leaning back a little, “S-Sir? Um... Would you like me to undress?”

“No, you can leave your clothes on.”

Patrick blinks as he takes those words in and lets them soak. This man is seriously freaking Patrick out. If he doesn’t want to just fuck Patrick, then why is he here, and why doesn’t he want Patrick to just take his clothes off? What’s going on?

“W-Why are you here, then, Sir?” Patrick replies, gritting his teeth slightly as he leans back, intimidated.

“Please,” The man replies, smiling softly, “Call me Sandman, and you are?”

“U-Uh...” Patrick looks away, blushing, “I-I’m Patrick... But you can call me whatever you want...”

Sandman stands up and Patrick watches him carefully as he looks around the room. Up at the light, then at the window, and finally down to the small shelf on the wall that holds nothing but a small wire and a camera.

“They don’t even try to hide it, do they?” Sandman mumbles to himself as he grabs a pair of scissors from his pocket and cuts the cord, then turns the camera to the wall and looks back at Patrick. He looks ten times more terrified than before. Why would he have to do that? The owners will be pissed, they’ll beat Patrick and ask him why he didn’t try to stop Sandman. They’ll probably chain him outside, let people have a free for all on him until he’s too sore to talk. He won’t have anything and –

“Patrick, hey.” He’s snapped out of his thoughts as Sandman sits back down on the floor and smiles gently up at him. “I need to talk to you about this place.”

“What do you mean?” Patrick whispers, “W-What do you want f-from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you. I’m not here to hurt you, I promise. I’m here to help. I want to help you get out of this place, would you come?” Sandman asks gently.

Patrick stares, almost in shock as Sandman stares up at him, completely serious. This has to be a joke. Ryan and Will... Ryan and Will probably sent him in to set Patrick off and make him want to do it and if he says yes then he’ll be beaten and probably given more customers than he can handle, but if Sandman... If Sandman really is serious and Patrick says no…

“Why?” Replies Patrick with a shaky undertone.

“Because what they’re doing to you here, it’s horrible. It isn’t right. People shouldn’t have to go through what you’re going through, it’s cruel and abusive and inhumane, okay? And there’s a lot of stuff going on in the world and if you want to leave, now is the time. I know you don’t know me and... everything they did fucked you up, but you gotta believe me.” Sandman looks away for a moment, calming his rant before returning his gaze to the blond. “So are you in, or not?”

Patrick stares for a long moment, jaw clenched, and fingers fisted. He finally just pulls his knees to his chest and takes a breath, though. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants. He just... He just wants to know the truth from the lies. He just wants to know if Sandman is being completely honest. He just needs to know that maybe he’s not being lied to for once in his life, and maybe there are good people out there. Maybe he shouldn’t care this much but... But honestly, sometimes he can’t help it. He’s paranoid and terrified and everyone he’s ever trusted has put him through hell, has shown him everything he just wants to go away. He’s so tired of trying to figure it out for himself. How much more pain does he have to go through before it’ll get better, huh?

“Patrick, would it be better if I came back another day? If you need some time to just think this over, you know I can give that to you,” Sandman replies, “But my friends and I are leaving in exactly three weeks to get away, okay? And after that we’ll be gone. If you’re coming, I need to know by then.”

Patrick stares at him for a long moment. Leaving? Why are they leaving? Who are his friends? Why will they be gone? What’s going on? Who is Sandman? What’s his real name? All these questions are coming and going too fast and his mind is rocketing and it’s just too much and he just. He just needs a break. He just –

“Patrick,” Sandman says gently. He’s standing now, and Patrick only shuffles back farther on the bed with wide, teary eyes and a terrified expression, “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? Just take deep breaths. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“Who do you work for?” Patrick asks, pulling himself away further from Sandman, “Why are you doing this?”

Sandman takes a breath just before pulling away with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. Patrick wants to know so bad why the hell this man is here, but he doubts he’ll even get close to figuring it out. He knows that if Will and Ryan sent him, he’d never give himself away, never just tell Patrick who he really came for.

“I don’t work for anyone, Patrick. I work for myself and my team.” Sandman heads back for the door. “I’ll be back, you probably need some time alone, anyway.”

Patrick watches as he leaves, shutting the door not long after and leaving the blond all alone to his own thoughts.

What the hell just happened? Why didn’t he just pin him down and fuck him? Is it something wrong with Patrick? And what was he talking about? His team? Running away? And why in the hell would he come to brothel in the first place? And talk to Patrick of all people?

He bites down on his fingernails as he looks away from the door and thinks. He hates not knowing and he wonders what it’s like out there in the city. Because there’s been a world right outside his window. Always just out of reach.

Patrick shuts his eyes, pulling his knees back to his chest and taking deep breaths like he had just a little while earlier when he had tried to pull himself back into sleep, trying desperately to just take himself from the world. Because it’s the only way he’s learned that gives him a break. It’s the only way he’s learned to forget about the hands that grip his hips and the bruises left across his neck. It’s the only way he’s learned to get the taste of “Sir” and that salty musk off his lips. The only way he can just forget for a while where he can just relax.

He hears a soft knock at his door and he knows who it is before he even has to see.

“Come in!” He calls, and not long after, the man is entering with his large, dark hands and those sharp brown eyes on a pierced face. He’s attractive, Patrick will admit that, and he’s one of his gentler clients. He likes Travie’s presence, it’s almost comforting in a way. He’s much lighter than someone like, say, Joe but he’s still got his rules. He has to get off, and Patrick has to refer to him as Daddy. But that’s kind of it. If Patrick wasn’t so repulsed by sex, he’s sure he’d enjoy it. But he’s had too much in the past few years. He’s tired.

“Hey there, Baby Boy,” Travie says gently, smiling as he shuts the door behind himself and heads toward the bed, wasting no time in shedding his shirt and kissing up Patrick’s chest, “Your day been okay?”

“It’s been okay, Daddy,” Patrick replies with a fake smile and his normal, innocent face, “I really wanna suck your cock, though...”

“You missed me?” Travie asks, smiling down at the prostitute fondly as he leans down and kisses him. The height difference between them is a whole foot so both have to work to connect their lips. Travie groans against the other’s lips, shutting his eyes and finally just pinning the other down, making sure his wrists stay tight against the mattress. Patrick fakes a groan, buckling up against Travie’s bulge and whimpering against the dark lips.

“C’mon, Baby Boy, can you suck my cock like a good little slut?” Travie breathes, pulling up and unzipping his jeans before pulling them down his waist. Patrick whimpers the slightest as he watches it hang there, heavy and long and thick. It’s a good 7 or 8 inches and it’s actually really thick. It’s hard for him to fit it and he can’t deep throat it, not if he wanted to.

“Anything for you, Daddy,” Patrick replies, leaning forward to capture the head of his cock between his lips, large and dark and leaking a drip of salty precum. He takes the head in just a few times to tease, looking up at Travie with a dark, sexual look as he watches the darker man pull his lip between his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” he compliments, shutting his eyes and falling back as Patrick continues to take him down until he’s to the back of his throat and he can’t breathe. Travie holds him there for a moment, glaring down as he chokes against the long shaft with teary eyes and drool dripping down his lips and along Travie’s length.

“Perfect,” Travie mumbles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NGGGGHHHHH okay this sucks but II had to get an update out and goddamn writer's block is a b i t c h. But thanks to @SnitchesAndTalkers for reminding me that people actually like this story!!!
> 
> Anywhore, hope you kind of enjoy the little filler content I gave you. I promise, two more chapters and it'll be good again, just bare with me :)

“You’re a good whore, you know that?” She whispers, “I’ll tell Will how well you did after this, yeah?”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Patrick replies, shutting his eyes as she presses a thumb inside his stretched entrance and circles him softly, nudging at that circle of nerves at his rim with long, gentle movements. He’s taut under her, ass up and head in the pillows as he anticipates the pain that’s about to come. He saw the silicone toy she brought in with her and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to take it. It’s gonna cause some sort of damage, he _knows_ it is, and he’s afraid of how much it’ll hurt. He’s learned to take it and not complain, to just lay limp and take breaths and try not to cry. He’s learned, and he knows he’ll have to use it today.

He feels her pull out and his heart immediately begins to pound in his chest in fast, deep strokes, rushing blood through his veins, oxygen to his muscles. He feels his entire system tensing up in anticipation, and that’s when he feels it.

She’s spreading him apart with a couple of fingers and her eyes are on him, open and vulnerable and unguarded, and that’s when he feels the thick tip against his opening. Thank fuck she stretched him some before this, but he knows it won’t be much better. This is still gonna hurt like a bitch.

It’s not long before it’s being replaced with something much larger, though and he takes deep breaths when she spreads him apart and presses in. It’s big, probably bigger than a goddamn fist, but he’s learned to take it. He’s learned how to just take deep breaths and embrace the pain. He learns how to fake the moans and please the customers. Even if it’s the last thing he wants to do.

“You’re so fucking tight,” She whispers, pressing it in deeper and watching him only push it back out in almost fascination. He wonders if this is the first time she’s done this. He’s not sure if that’s worse or better. He’s not sure if he has the willpower to care because the next thing he knows, she’s pressing the dildo in as far as it’ll go, taking pleasure in his grunts of pain and loving how the tears rise to his eyes and how he grips at the headboard. It’s pure and raw and, fuck, it’s hot. She’s a sadist and they both know it but the only difference between this and a real BDSM scene is that she doesn’t have to show an ounce of mercy. Not even after the scene.

“M-Ma’am,” Patrick cries out as soon as the dildo bottoms out. It’s stretching him so wide that he feels the pain all the way up in his chest, clutching at his heart in a cold, solid grip.

“Shut up,” She mumbles, pulling the dildo out before thrusting it back in and listening to the way Patrick groans and chokes in pain. Maybe if he… if he tried to show it…

“H-Hurts,” He gasps as he clenches around the toy and digs his nails deep into the restraints. He feels it stretching his insides wide and opening him up much farther than he’s used to. The stretch burns bad, especially with the fact she didn’t add much lube to the toy itself. It makes him cry and squirm and wish he could be anywhere else, and he wouldn’t be surprised if there were a trail of blood slicking down his thigh, “P-Please. _S-Stop_.”

“I’ll stop when I want to stop, until then, you can deal with it like the good little bitch you are,” She snarls, shoving the dildo as far in as it’ll go and listening to him scream out in pain. He doesn’t bother to hold it back anymore, because she obviously likes this. If she likes it, she’ll come faster, and when that’s over, she’ll leave. And maybe the pain will subside.

“M-Mistress, p-please…” Patrick whimpers when she pulls out the dildo and presses two fingers in with ease. They nudge against his prostate, steady as he jumps in surprise, but it’s not long before they’re out and she’s forcing him on his back, thank fuck.

“You did good,” She mumbles, untying the restraints with a numb hand before tugging the rope and the dildo back into her bag.

Patrick massages his wrists, sitting up and bowing his head with a small, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

She hums in reply, turning away from the whore before slinging the bag over her shoulder and leaving, keeping sure to lock the door once she’s out.

Patrick sighs, rubbing his ass in pain as he sits back and internally wondering how much that’ll hurt tomorrow. He has no idea how many customers he has, but he knows it’s gotta be more than ten. It’s never less than ten. Ever.

“Hello?”

Patrick jumps, gasping as his eyes head back to the door, but he finds himself relaxing when it’s Sandman there. Nobody else. He’s wearing a bandana across his mouth and nose like last time and a leather jacket covers his shoulders as he comes in. Patrick’s thoughts on Sandman have changed since last he came, about a week ago. He knows that Sandman might be his only chance, but at the same time, he’s still terrified it’s William and Ryan’s doing. They’ve probably set Sandman up to this, told him to test Patrick.

“G-Good morning,” Patrick says, pulling the blankets up and over his exposed lower half with wide, afraid eyes.

“How’s work going?” Sandman asks in a gentle voice, taking a seat on the floor to give Patrick some space.

“Uh, it’s okay,” Patrick clears his throat as he looks away at where the camera and microphone still lay unfixed. Ryan beat him hard for that and he’s sure he broke a rib. Patrick was terrified, but he dealt with it, his rib doesn’t hurt as much as it did.

“Have you thought about my offer?” The man replies, “We’ve only got two weeks left before we’re leaving.”

“Some,” The blond replies, laying back a little and trying to take in Pete’s scent, “Do you work for Will?”

“No, I don’t,” He says.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Patrick swallows deep, and an awkward silence rings out through the room. Eventually, he clears his throat and says to Sandman, “You can sit up here if you’d like. It’s probably more comfortable than the floor.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

Patrick hears Sandman stand from the floor, then come to the bed, sure to keep a distance between them so he doesn’t scare Patrick, but from here, Patrick gets more of a scent from him. He smells calmness, a gentle demeanor but somewhere deep down there’s something more. Fear, anxiety, terror. That unsettles Patrick the slightest. Especially more so when he smells the dominance on him. He’s an alpha, and Patrick’s never in his life had a good encounter with one.

“Who’s on your team? Or whoever you were talking about? Why are you running away?” Patrick asks.

“I can’t tell you now. There’s too much of a risk. If the… if _they_ hear, they’ll kill me. _Us_.”

“Who’s they? Ryan and Will?” Patrick asks with a concerned look.

“No, Patrick, someone much worse,” Sandman replies, “I don’t want to scare you, or intimidate you, or freak you out, but I promise if you come with us, we’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

Patrick swallows, looking the darker haired man dead in the eye for some sort of reason not to trust him. All he sees is the calmness and he, himself, begins to relax a little.

“Where are you going?” Patrick asks.

“We’ll head West, that’s all I can say,” Sandman says, “Somewhere far away from here where we plan to isolate ourselves until everything dies down.”

“Oh,” Patrick looks away, clearing his throat as he takes that in. He’s never been outside of Chicago. He’s lived here ever since he was born and has worked for as long as he can remember. He never leaves this building, he doesn’t know where in Chicago they reside. All he knows is that when he looks out the barred window, he sees nothing but the moon and the sky, and the treetops miles away. He hasn’t seen anything outside of this place in years and years. He misses it dearly. He really fucking does.

“Do you want more time to think?” Sandman asks, hesitantly reaching forward and brushing the tips of his fingers over Patrick’s hand. It brings a shock of uneasiness through Patrick’s body and he warily looks back at Pete with a small expression.

He doesn’t know. He wants so dearly to leave this place, he wants so bad to run away and never look back. He wants to leave the greasy, cum and blood stained walls and the cold nights on bumpy mattresses. He wants to go somewhere that he doesn’t have responsibilities and he can be treated better. He doesn’t know much about the world, but he’s dying to learn.

At the same time, though, he finds a dark doubt crawling through his mind and a feeling of emptiness clawing at his heart. What if Sandman really isn’t running away? What if he just wants to steal Patrick away, pull him into just another brothel? What if he really is working with Ryan and Will? What if he just wants to hurt Patrick more?

Patrick is conflicted, tired, and terrified. He wants to know the truth and he’s dying to just take the chance. But he’s taken chances too many times and each and every time he was beaten, hurt, raped. He needs to take the risk, but what if it’s really not worth in the end? What if it just makes it worse?

“I… I can come back tomorrow, Patrick,” Sandman says, “I promise I can. Do you trust me?”

“I don’t…” Patrick swallows, “I don’t know.”

Sandman gazes across at him with a sad smile, then looks away and shakes his head with a sigh.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, but I need your final answer by then, okay?”

“O-Okay,” Patrick whispers.

Sandman licks his lips and looks around for a moment before pulling something from his pocket, handing it out to the poor prostitute before him. In his hands sits a faded gold key. The same key that fits in his door.

The same key that fits in the front door.

“If you don’t want to go with me use this. If you want to go but I don’t return in two weeks, use this. Nobody will hurt you. I promise.”

“Where did you get this?” Patrick gasps with wide eyes.

“The kid with the shorter brown hair, he’s an omega I think. But like I said, I’ll be back tomorrow. If you’re not here, I will never bother you again in your life. Okay?”

“O-Okay,” Patrick whispers as Sandman stands up.

“Do you want me to stay so you can get some rest, or are you okay?”

“I-I’m okay,” Patrick replies, slipping the key into his pillowcase and turning back to the mysterious man with wide, shocked eyes, “Th-Thank you.”

“Anytime, Patrick,” Sandman grins, “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated :)


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